


Middlehaven

by Luana Araceli (Luana_Araceli)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Demons, Empaths, Fantasy, Gen, Half-demons, Secret Identity, Urban Fantasy, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 19:49:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11835825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luana_Araceli/pseuds/Luana%20Araceli





	1. Prologue

It’s always a good idea to tell the most important thing at the beginning, right? In that case, the first thing you should know is that I’m not exactly human. I say not exactly, because I am half-human, so I can’t just shrug that off. But it’s my other half that has caused me so much grief. Being a half-demon is very rare in the Demon World and the very fact that I am a half-breed is the whole reason half of that world wants me dead. I threaten their very existence just by being alive. 

There are two sides in the Demon World—the Demon Council, which makes the rules that all who have demon blood running through their veins have to follow in regards to the human world—and the Court of Dame Reia. The Court consists of Dame Reia and her Core Hounds and their goal is to rid the world of humans, rather than co-existing, and my existence threatens that objective because I am the link between Demons and Humans. 

It’s a fragile link, as it is, because Humans hate Demons more than Demons could ever begin to hate Humans. Human religions shun Demons and very few humans are even aware of the existence of Demons. And those that are either accept co-existing peacefully, or take up arms to get rid of them entirely. And most Demons, despite abiding by all Council laws, either hate humans or fear them. So being a link isn’t exactly where I want to be standing. Humans and Demons are both equally dangerous to me, and I don’t particularly want to be caught up in the crossfire.

This war between Demons and Humans has been going on for longer than I can remember, but I do know what started it. How can I not, when I supposedly play such a big part between the two parties? Anyway, a witch named Merian is said to have cursed an ex-lover who spurned her to father a seventh son that would be born a Demon, and that thereafter all seventh sons would be born demons to the 2 nd generation. In simpler terms, it means that only the seventh son of a seventh son would be born a demon, but the seventh son of a seventh son of a seventh son has a chance to be born human. And I am a third generation seventh son, born neither human nor demon. The legend of Merian also says that a half-demon has the potential to reverse the original curse and turn all Demons back into Humans. 

Now, normally, you’d think “that’s good news, everyone can go back to being humans and the war will stop and everyone will get along and it will be a happily ever after ending.” But no. That’s not how it works. Demons have been around now for generations upon generations, and they like the powers that comes with their Demonic natures. 

All Demons can control one of the elements: fire, air, earth, water, wood, metal, electricity, and stone. Even as a half-demon, I have access to powers I wouldn’t have as a full human, because my father controls Fire while my mother controls Lightning. No one wants to have to give up their powers—the scant few that I have included—and go back to being humans. Humans, as a general rule, are fairly powerless. Yeah, some of them are psychic and relate to the world on a higher plane than the rest of them, but it’s not the same as having fire or lightning under your control. It just isn’t. 

So to top off having powers I don’t want to lose, I have two groups of people in the Demon World pulling at me. The Demon Council wants me to choose one way or the other—do I want to become a full demon, or do I want to be a human?—while the Court wants to kill me because I represent a link between the Human and Demon world that they consider an abomination. 

It’s no wonder I’m confused. And my parents aren’t any help. They only want what I want. “We’ll stick by you whatever you choose.” Thanks, Mom, Thanks, Dad. It’s nice to know you’re so supportive of my decisions in life, but this is one I could use a little help on! 

And the real problem is—I don’t know what I want. Being a full human would be cool, in its own way, because while I would lose the ability to control fire and lightning, I wouldn’t have to worry about controlling my anger to keep my demon side under wraps. I wouldn’t have to hide my eyes behind contacts because they wouldn’t be a scary blood-red color that makes people run screaming from the room. And I could have friends. That’s the biggest thing right there—having friends. I have never had a single friend in my life, because I’m either too scary because of my volatile temper, or I’m too scared myself to try and make friends with the few Demons I come in contact with. I don’t know which Demons have ties to the Court instead of the Council, but I know enough to know that anyone from the Court is not my friend. The Council, at least, could be a potential ally, but the Court? That’s just saying “I’m here, please come kill me.” 

And then, of course, there’s the other side. Being a full Demon would have advantages too. I’d have more control over Fire and Lightning…or maybe just one of the two, since apparently my half-and-half status is what allows me to control more than one. So I’d have control over Lightning, because that’s what I’d choose. And I wouldn’t have to worry about the Court coming after me, because I’d be a full Demon and they don’t kill Demons. On the other hand, the Council would no longer support me, because my half-and-half status is what keeps their dreams of uniting the Demon and Human worlds alive. Still, losing their support and no longer being hunted by the Court would be well worth it. When it comes to the Demon choice, it’s all about Power. And I’d have it in spades, were I to choose that side. 

When I think of choosing one way or the other, it all sort of falls apart in my head, because while I can see the benefits of both sides—well, I can see both sides and that makes me want to be what I am. Half-and-half. 

I know that eventually I will have to choose—it is a by-law of the Council that any half-demon born has to choose by their eighteenth birthday whether to become a Demon or a Human. There is no in-between allowed for more than the first eighteen years. Of course, I’m not entirely sure how they would go about making me a Demon or a Human, because as far as I know, I’m the first half-demon that has ever been born. It’s not like there is a precedent for my existence, except for in the legends of Merian and her Curse. So there’s no guarantee, even if I do choose one way or the other, that the Council will be able to turn me into either. 

It’s rather frustrating, being told I have to choose Demon or Human while being the link between the two worlds at the same time the Court is trying to kill me for being alive. 

It was fairly easy to put all of that all of my mind, however, up until the point I started attending Middlehaven High. 


	2. Chapter One

If there is one thing my dad taught me to do well, it’s how to flee; how to drop everything when there is no hope of winning and just run. Run until it’s impossible to run anymore. And then, when all the energy for running is gone, I hide. 

Hiding is what I’m doing in Middlehaven, a small town on the verge of becoming a small city in its own right. And hiding is best done, as I’ve been taught, by hiding in plain sight. 

No one here will suspect me of being the teenager who ran away from Wakefield after supposedly killing his own parents. My photo is in every police station in the country, but I wouldn’t be very good at hiding if I didn’t know how to disguise myself. Anyone looking at me now would never identify me as Trent Michaels—yet another false name I’ve had to assume. 

My new identity as Damon Marshall comes complete with a new look and a new wardrobe. One of the perks about being a teenager is that no one looks twice if you walk around with brightly colored hair or a couple tattoos. 

Since Trent Michaels, before he killed his parents, was a renowned basketball jock, I chose to go in the opposition direction for Damon Marshall. 

As Damon, I sport shockingly vibrant blue hair slicked back in a mohawk, a nose ring, and a tattoo on my right cheek. The tattoo was the only way I could think to conceal the ugly scar that runs from my eye to my chin. It may be one of the more obvious ways to hide a scar, but that particular scar would be a dead give away to anyone looking for Trent Michaels. 

The tattoo itself seems simple—it is two criss-crossed logs under a fire—but it is incredibly significant to me. It is half of my family crest. I will one day get the other half on the other side of my face, but it is much too dangerous for me to do so now. 

Those who hunt me would recognize it immediately and having even half of it is risky. Sometimes, though, to hide convincingly, it is necessary to be daring. 

And, thus, the identity of Damon Marshall was born. But changing looks and adopting a certain kind of attitude is the least of my problems. I have so many I scarcely know where to begin. But, as my father would say, take it one day and one step at a time. 

All right, then. Now I have to find a place to stay. I sigh, considering the possibilities. There are no good ones. A homeless shelter would get the cops involve, as they’d immediately suspect a runaway. And considering my former alias is wanted for murder, cops are a bad idea. Doesn’t matter that the murder never happened—my pursuers are determined to catch me and will use every underhanded method in the book, as well as outside it, to ensure my capture. Without a proper fake id, I won’t be able to get an apartment manager to take a risk and lease one to me. Sharing a room might be possible if I had time to research roommates, but they’d still be suspicious and could potentially involve the police. So that’s out. The only option left to me is a hotel, and I won’t be able to stay in one for any length of time. I’ll have to jump from hotel to hotel, only staying in one a week or two at a time and then moving on. Luckily, Middlehaven is full of hotels, so that won’t really present a problem. 

I figure I can hide here in Middlehaven about six months before I have to move on. If I’m lucky, that is. There’s always the chance my pursuers will find me and I’ll have to leave earlier than planned. But I will have to move. There is no getting around that. 

I take a whiff of the wind, letting out a sigh of relief when all my sense return nothing but clean, crisp air and the thrumming hum of a small city at work. 

If I’m lucky, Dame Rhea’s Core Hounds won’t find me here. I shake my head, clearing it. One step at a time, I repeat firmly. And the next step is enrolling in school. 

The lack of parents to sign the enrollment forms for me could be a problem, but even though I despise using my skills to influence minds, sometimes it can’t be helped. 

I find Middlehaven High with no difficulty and make my way to the office. It’s the middle of the school day, so I’m not surprised when the secretary frowns at me. A light brush of my mind on hers tells me she’s jumped to the conclusion I’ve been skipping. 

I roll my eyes to myself. I know adopting this style will have drawbacks, but its’ still annoying to be dismissed so easily—especially when Trent Michaels had the kind of charm that opened doors with ease. “Excuse me, Mrs. Johnson?” I say, getting her name off the plaque on her desk. 

She frowns at me. “Yes?” 

“I’m sorry to interrupt when you’re obviously busy, but I’m here to enroll.” She isn’t busy, but it seems polite to add since she’s so upset by my very presence. 

At those words, her eyes narrow. “And where are your parents?” 

“I was told to drop by today and get the forms and then to come back with my dad when they’re signed.” 

She gives me a disgusted look, but retrieves the forms. 

“Thanks,” I say, trying my best to hide how forcefully both my teeth and hands are clenched. 

Most humans don’t affect me like that, but I hate being dismissed. My demon half tries to rise to the surface, but I push it down forcefully. Now is not the time for it. 

I walk around the school parking lot twice before I am able to settle my demon’s craving for carnage. I will have to get used to being so crudely dismissed because the look I’ve adopted somehow invites others not to take me seriously. It makes me long for the days I was Trent Michaels, a jock and incredibly popular, who no one ever dismissed. Thinking of it ignites my anger again and I fill out the enrollment forms half-choking on fury. If I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to do something I regret. 

Just then, a bell rings and students start pouring out of the school. From the conversation I pick up on, it’s the lunch bell, which makes sense given the time of day. Now I really need to get out of here, because anger leads me to releasing my demon half which leads to destruction and sometimes death. 

Just as I think that, I feel a soft touch on my shoulder and all my anger dissipates. It’s just gone, like it never existed. I try to get angry about having it stolen from me, but I’m too relieved that I am not going to do something stupid. I turn slowly to face the human that touched me. 

“Yes?” I say, more curious than anything. With one touch, this human evaporated my anger. Unusual, unexpected, and definitely paranormal—I’m not sure if he’s a good or bad kind yet. 

“Hi,” he says, and I pause a moment to take the guy in. He’s shorter than me (which isn’t hard, since I’m 6’3”) at about 5’8”, skinny as a rail while wearing clothes two sizes too big (all of which are black), and is regarding me with curious green eyes through a shock of unruly black hair that hangs down in a way I’d find annoying. His ears both have studs and he has a skull tattoo on his left shoulder. 

“Hi,” I say. 

“So you’re enrolling here?” he asks, nodding his head towards the forms I hold in my hands. 

Normally, I’d ignore a guy like this. Because, as Trent Michaels, that was what was expected, but as Damon Marshall, this guy will be part of my crowd. I adapt quickly, since I’ve always been required to, so I say, “Yeah, thinking about it.” 

The guy grins. “Not like there’s another choice in this town.” 

I nod. 

“Did you have any trouble getting the forms? Mrs. Johnson can be a bit prickly.” 

The fact he is initiating conversation relieves me immensely. This look, this style, is completely new to me. I’m still not completely sure how I’m supposed to act, so playing by ear will have to do for now. “Not a whole lot, but she didn’t seem to like me much.” 

He snorts. “That doesn’t surprise me. Her son is the quarterback for the football team. She doesn’t like anyone who isn’t preppy.” 

That explains everything. It also makes me a bit angry, because if I was still Trent Michaels (without the criminal background, of course), then she’d have loved me. I suddenly get an idea what non-jocks deal with on a daily basis for no other reason than how they dress and it is an eye-opener. “I’m Damon,” I say, the name tasting weird on my tongue. It’s my real name—I’ve just never used it as part of my identity before. And I’m not really sure what inspired me to use it this time, but it felt right. Growing up the way I did, you learn real quick to trust your instincts. 

“I’m Ash,” he says, and the next words out of his mouth shock me. “So why were you so angry when I first came out here?” 

I just blink stupidly at him. Ash had killed my rage? Just what kind of human is he? And then, suddenly, I know.

He shifts uncomfortably as the silence stretches. “Sorry,” he finally mutters. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.” He turns to walk away. 

Somehow, I recover my wits. “Wait,” I say, and breathe a sigh of relief when he stops. “You just caught me off guard. I’m not used to such candor from an Empath and I wasn’t really expecting to meet one here.” 

His eyes grow wide with surprise. “How do you know what I am?” he demands, hands curled into fists at his side. 

I don’t want to fight him, and I project that as hard as I can. I am able to hold my own in a fight, and will if I have to, but never with an Empath. Not even if my life depends on it. When you’re half-demon, there’s always one type of paranormal talent you respect and fear more than any other, and for me, that’s empathy. 

His fists relax a fraction, but not completely. “I’d like an answer to my question,” he says. 

I swallow hard and hope he doesn’t notice. “I’ve known other Empaths,” I say. It’s a lame reason, but I can’t tell him that I’m half-demon. Ash could force it from me, but I won’t volunteer that information. Not when it could get me killed. 

“You’re hiding something.” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“I have to.” 

“Do I scare you?” 

“Not exactly.” Which is the truth, as Ash is not an imposing figure. In a fist fight, I would easily overwhelm him. 

“What do you mean by that?” His fists are starting to clench again. 

I sigh. “What do you want me to tell you? We both know in a physical fight I could take you down. Physically, you don’t scare me. But what you can do as an Empath, well, let’s just say I have a healthy respect for your abilities.” 

His fists finally relax. I breathe an internal sigh of relief. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll accept that. But I will find out what you’re hiding.” 

I shrug, but I can’t hide how freaked out I am by the idea of him finding out. And I know more than most that I can’t hide anything I feel from him. Empaths are exasperating that way. 

“You could just tell me, you know,” he says. 

“I’d rather not.” 

“You never did answer my question.” 

“About?” 

“Why you were so angry.” 

I laugh, because remembering what made me angry makes me feel like a child since it was rather juvenile. “I was upset because Mrs. Johnson dismissed me like I was nothing more than some dirt on her shoe.” 

Ash snorts. “No one gets that angry.” He turns to walk away, and then looks back at me. “No one human, that is.” 

I try to keep my heart-rate normal, to hide my fear that he knows, but it’s useless. If he’s part of Dame Rhea’s Core Hounds, I’m truly and utterly screwed. If she has Empaths on her payroll, I won’t last a week, let alone the six months I was hoping for. 

“So that’s it. You’re not human.” 

I groan. “Fine, you win. No, I’m not entirely human. Now, can we drop the subject?” 

“Sure,” Ash says. “But we’ll pick it up later.” 

“Great,” I mutter, and walk back into the school. I don’t even stop to think what I’m doing, because I’m so irritated that I’ve been found out by an Empath (of all things), and get myself enrolled using all the tricks I know to influence the secretary, the principal, and the guidance counselor. I leave knowing they all think I’m an average student with two busy parents as well as a small dent in my school records for fighting. I make my way to Ridgefield Inn and pay for a week’s room and board. 

I fall asleep dreaming of my parents—both of whom still live, regardless of the faked news report from Wakefield—and haunted by the knowledge I have of Empaths and what crossing one can mean. 

 


End file.
